


Phasmophobia

by QueenCamellia



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Campania Arc, F/M, GreyLizzy, fear of ghostssssss, more angsty than planned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 21:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13466580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenCamellia/pseuds/QueenCamellia
Summary: Because of the misconception that the reanimated corpses on the Campania are ghosts, Charles Grey and Elizabeth Midford find themselves stuck in a closet together.Subsequently, they kick ass.(Or: A Lizzy-centric Campania AU fanfic with heavy sass [and snarky Grey].)





	Phasmophobia

**Author's Note:**

> Notably,  
> 1) Lizzy is much sassier than planned.  
> 2) She also distinguishes between "Elizabeth" and "Lizzy," Elizabeth being the methodical badass she was when trying to attack Grell.  
> 3) This follows the assumption that Lizzy doesn't catch up to Ciel in time to be with him during all of this! Thus, there are slight changes to the story.  
> 4) I began this under the assumption/with the headcanon that Grey and Lizzy dueled since childhood, just roll with it? \\(=w=)9

A plate of cake in hand, Lizzy was about to search for Ciel amongst the crowd when screams began to resound in the ballroom. She whipped around, her grip on the plate tightening as her emerald green eyes searched for the cause of the disturbance.

“Monsters!”

“Walking corpses!”

 _"Ghosts!_ ” The loudest shriek caught her attention, and Lizzy immediately paled.

“Ghosts?” she echoed softly, her eyes rounding with horror. Biting her lip, she searched for a familiar, comforting presence, but to no avail. Edward was probably off in another part of the luxurious, expansive ballroom, and both her mother and father left early to retire to bed. Ciel was off somewhere, undoubtedly with Sebastian by his side. Lizzy bit her lip, clenching her fists to keep them from trembling.

She was _Elizabeth Midford,_ for Heaven’s sake! She was the daughter of Alexis Midford, Knight of England, head of the Midford house and the Order of the British Empire. She shouldn’t be quivering in her shoes at the mere _possibility_ of otherworldly creatures.

Nevertheless, Lizzy felt her fear threatening to swallow her whole and knew she wouldn’t be able to withstand it.

She needed a moment to recollect herself, lest she break down in front of a crowd of gossiping old women.

Hurrying past the panicking crowd of nobles, Lizzy found herself pacing back and forth in one of the ship’s corridors, small tremors wracking her body. She hated herself for having such an irrational fear — _ghosts, of all things!_ — but couldn’t stop herself from trembling.

Such a silly, irrational fear...fitting for such a silly, irrational girl.

She wasn’t the English lady she portrayed herself to be. She was a fencer, a warrior, practically a knight; even though she had tried so hard to become a prim and proper lady, Lizzy knew that her _soul_ was a knight. Her very existence, her most _inner instinct_ was to protect those weaker than her. She couldn’t fool herself into believing otherwise.

Lizzy was _abnormal:_ she was an anomaly, a _disgrace_ to women in the eyes of plenty of men.

And above any of her insecurities about how society would view her, the one insecurity that mattered most was about Ciel. He hated girls like her. He _feared_ them. She wasn’t suitable for him. _(She tried, she really did. She buried herself under frilly dresses and fancy petticoats, she giggled and ranted about “cute” things, and she even threw herself with fervent vigor into dancing.)_

(It still wasn’t enough.)

(Elizabeth Midford was always meant to be the brilliant knight of the fairy tale, not the princess.)

Inwardly, Lizzy tried to rationalize the situation. _There’s no such thing as ghosts, Lizzy,_  she reasoned, chiding herself like her mother often did. _Those nobles probably just got surprised by some drunk lower-class men that must’ve stumbled into the upper class deck._ Firmly nodding, Lizzy pivoted on her heel, intent on returning to the ballroom to find Ciel.

Then, a shiver ran up her spine as she heard screams and deep, timbery moans. They weren’t moans of ecstasy nor excitement — no, those were cries of horror and terror.

_Ghosts. Ghosts. Ghosts._

Blatant and overpowering _fear_ coursed through her veins. And, without a second thought, Lizzy ran.

 _Genius swordswoman and valiant daughter of an English knight,_ hah.

She was such a coward.

Always running, whether it be from her true nature or the truth itself. _(“...Ciel?”)_

Turning the corner, Lizzy heard impeding footsteps following her. If Lizzy had been thinking logically, she would’ve realized that ghosts didn’t _have_ footsteps. Unfortunately, all of her rationality abandoned her completely once that terrifying feeling of _fear_ overwhelmed her. Emerald green eyes darting around desperately, Lizzy’s eyes locked on a closet.

_There._

She’d just stroll in, recollect herself, and then stroll out and pretend that she hadn’t been _cowering_ in such a fragile, pitiful state for minutes! Then she’d go and help. She’d be of no use if she was panicking; Lizzy needed to pull herself together and quickly return to assess the situation.

Hand reaching out and twisting the doorknob to the closet, Lizzy threw the door open. And then, well…

_...what?_

She stood there, stupefied for nearly four complete seconds before shaking off her shock.

“Earl Grey?” She identified the silver haired man sitting crouched in a ball in the middle of the janitor’s closet, his usually confident and broad shoulders hunched over. Her frequent fencing opponent and rival simply sat there, his grip on his arm tightening as he refused to look at her. Lizzy’s fear was replaced with curiosity. She bent down, asking gently, “Earl Grey, are you alright? Do you need a doctor?”

“I’m _fine,_  Midford,” Grey snapped acerbically, his voice bitter and head still bent downwards to stare at the ground. Usually, he hid any discomfort behind pointed words and jarring insults: the fact that he used neither concerned her.

Affronted by his lie, exasperation seeped into Lizzy’s voice as she rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips sassily. “Well, you’re _obviously_ not. What’s the matter?”

“Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?” Grey retorted.

“Ah, yes. Hiding in a closet. Your greatest feat yet, my lord.” Lizzy couldn’t help the sarcasm that leaked into her voice. Always, _always_ around Earl Grey, her prim and proper “lady” persona slipped. In the fencing hall, it was easy to lose herself in the heat of the moment. The silver haired man often saw Lizzy’s most unrefined and coarse self. It seemed as if her loosened tongue while fencing had now extended to everyday conversations with the earl. If her mother was here...well, Lizzy didn’t want to think about what Francis’s reaction would’ve been.

“Not like you’re much better, now aren’t you, Midford?” His voice was derisive, but he _finally_ looked up to meet her eyes.

And there, standing in front of an open closet on a ship that was probably infested by ghosts or zombies, Lizzy saw Earl Grey at his worst.

His silver eyes shone with some unspoken warning, probably along the lines of _“if you tell anyone about this, I’ll murder you.”_

Unfortunately for the silver haired earl, Lizzy was more proficient than he at the sword. Grey probably couldn’t actually killed her if he tried — well, he couldn’t kill her _fairly._  No doubt he could try to slip poison into her tea, but he was more honorable than that when it came to their duels.

Instead of bristling in defense at his accusatory look, Lizzy took a deep breath, looked past his guarded demeanor, and truly observed her fencing opponent. He was trembling, much like her. Those silver eyes also held a sliver of _fear,_  but along with that fear was a glint of shame. Shame...shame that he had been seen in such a state by his rival? Or shame directed towards his fear itself?

“Maybe I’m not much better,” Lizzy acknowledged carefully. Their conversation was always like a duel of words, a heated dance of courtesies and thinly veiled insults. But underneath their biting banter was a subtle, grudging respect for each other.

Grey opened his mouth, no doubt prepared with another witty comeback or snarky remark, but the sound of groaning down the halls stopped both of them in their tracks. The ghosts were approaching. Involuntarily, Lizzy felt tears begin to well in her eyes, and _oh God no, please, she couldn’t act this weak in front of him of all people—_

Earl Grey had been one of the few people who respected her and treated her like an equal. He didn’t treat her any differently from any of his companions just because she was _female._ Her gender didn’t matter: to him, she was just as strong and quick minded as any male friends. And that was enough for him. He didn’t mind that she was a knight, that she wasn’t a lady, that she wasn’t pretty, dainty _Lizzy_ but strong and confident _Elizabeth Midford._

Lizzy loved being Lizzy. But she also loved the liberating feeling of being _Elizabeth._

He often complained to her, in between duels, of the annoying and boring women who flocked to him during social gatherings. _“Weak, prim, and boring,”_ he had told her, parrying her attack. _“You’re much more interesting, Midford.”_

But now, she was acting just like those weak and prim ladies he detested.

Lizzy’s bottom lip trembled. She clenched her fists tightly, silently willing her tears to stop falling. It didn’t work.

_Weak. Weak. Weak._

_I’m so_ weak, _damn it. Stop it. Don’t cry._

_Don’t._

“Midford, are you _crying_ ?” If Lizzy had been paying attention, she would’ve noticed a note of panic in his voice. But she wasn’t paying attention, too caught up in her own feelings: her fear, her shame, her _anger_ at herself. Gruffly, Grey rose to his feet, hands reaching out as if wanting to console her before abruptly dropping to his sides. “Oi, oi, don’t cry on me.”

“S-sorry,” Lizzy sniffled, trying to blink away her tears. It didn’t work: a single tear rolled down her cheek. As if a dam had burst, suddenly a torrent of senseless words tumbled out of her mouth. “I’m really sorry. I know that I’m weak and I shouldn’t be doing this and it’s hardly proper for a lady of my stature to be acting so disconcerted just by the mere mention of otherworldly creatures that _surely_ don’t exist; I know that I’m being irrational, but—”

Lizzy shut up as Grey abruptly grabbed hold of her wrist and literally _dragged_ her into the closet, slamming the door behind them.

“You, Elizabeth Midford, are _not_ weak,” he hissed. “I did not lose to a weak, irrational girl. Your victories were _not_ flukes. I lost to a steadfast, determined, and powerful _warrior._ You’re _strong,_  Midford, stronger than I originally credited you for when I first met you. Don’t go insulting those you’ve beaten by spouting such lies.”

“I’m not...I...you…” Lizzy stared disbelievingly at her regular fencing opponent, at a complete loss for words. “Earl Grey, you…”

“...are exceedingly handsome and talented? Don’t worry, Midford: I already know,” Grey finished smugly.

Lizzy resisted the urge to roll her eyes, her mood lightening. Earl Grey always had that effect on her; their duels and banter often took her mind off of less desirable topics. “I see that your ego hasn’t taken any hits, hasn’t it?”

“It unnerves opponents. Well, most opponents,” Grey amended, silver eyes flickering to her face before glancing upwards at the closet ceiling uncomfortably.

Lizzy came to an epiphany.

She was in a closet. With Earl Grey.

 _Earl Grey,_ of all people! And he had yet to make fun of her disgruntled state.

“Why were you in here?” She suddenly asked, fidgeting and attempting to ignore her sudden realization of how close they were to each other. If she leaned forward _ever_ so slightly, she’d be leaning on the earl’s chest. No doubt both of their reputations would be ruined...no, utterly _obliterated_ if anyone found the two in such a position.

“I found the closet particularly inviting.”

Lizzy raised an unimpressed eyebrow, waiting. Five seconds of silent passed, her unwavering gaze pinned on her companion.

The silver haired noble grumbled something under his breath.

“What?”

He mumbled it again.

“Earl Grey, we’re literally centimeters apart and I can’t hear you. You’re usually so insufferably smug and loud, so why—”

“They said there were _ghosts,_  okay?” His eyes were narrowed, _daring_ for her to laugh or insult him for his weakness. “I’m not afraid of death. I’m not afraid of assassins, of demons, of spiders, or of any other silly fear people possess. But ghosts...they’re different. I can’t cut them with my sword.”

And even though that explanation might’ve seemed _entirely_ ridiculous to normal people, Lizzy understood. And more than that: she _empathized._

Grey was still speaking. “—I swear, Midford, if you tell anybody—”

“I get it,” she cut him off, a shiver wracking her spine. She repeated lamely, locking eyes with him, “I understand.”

“Of course you don’t understand, you—” Grey paused abruptly. “...you...do?”

His bemused expression amused Lizzy more than she would’ve admitted. “Yes, I do,” she confirmed, nodding her head ever so slightly as she tried to drown out the approaching sounds of groaning and footsteps. “After all, why else would _I_ be here?”

And Grey understood. They both understood each other; their irrational fear for the unknown, for the unconquerable and unvanquishable, for the _creatures_ that even they couldn’t defeat with their swords.

 _“Stay away!”_ Somebody shrieked, panic and desperation coating their voice. There was sobbing, then an almost inhuman scream of pain.

Lizzy paused, the instinct to _protect_ and _help_ that her family had instilled within her throbbing within her chest. Suddenly, she stilled, then slowly turned to face Earl Grey. “Grey,” she whispered softly, expression frozen but slow realization lighting up in her emerald eyes. She cleared her throat and explained, “Ghosts...ghosts don’t have footsteps.”

Realization overtook his features. “Neither are they able to hurt living beings…” he registered slowly.

They locked eyes, ridiculously large grins spreading on both of their faces.

“They’re just zombies!” They concluded simultaneously, utterly _delighted._ The silly grin on Lizzy’s face threatened to grow wider. Immediately, Grey flung the door open, drawing his sword and letting out a breathy, _elated_ laugh.

“Come on, Midford! We have some trash to take care of,” he called joyfully, dashing out into the hallway and proceeding to massacre the wave of walking corpses in the entire corridor.

 _“Zombies!”_ Someone wailed in horror.

“Zombies,” Lizzy agreed, laughing and glancing around to make sure that Ciel wasn’t present before drawing her own sabres and stabbing an approaching creature straight through the brain. Spinning around, Lizzy became a tornado of blades, cutting, slashing, and utterly _demolishing_ the enemy. Adrenaline rushed through her, and impulsively, she dashed forward and began running on the _wall_ of the corridor, giggling as she played a game of hopscotch with the zombies’ heads while simultaneously stabbing them.

Ciel would’ve thought she was deranged.

Grey, on the other hand, simply tilted his head back a degree to look at the trail of chaos following her wake, threw his head back in the air, and laughed loudly. Together, they turned the corner and proceeded to massacre another wave of zombies.

As he twisted around and sliced another zombie in half, Grey called casually, “As a butler of the Queen, it’s my duty to Her Majesty to protect the citizens of England. I’ve saved six, and you?”

“Seven,” Lizzy returned cheekily, ducking before she could be decapitated by one of his strikes and continuing, “As the daughter of Alexis Midford, Head of the British Knights, it’s _my_ duty to protect them as well, you know.”

 _“Duck."_ Lizzy obeyed his imperative immediately, his chilly voice sending shivers down her spine. The commanding and serious tone of his voice quickly switched to a playful one. “Wouldn’t want you to get your dainty hands dirty, now,” Grey said sweetly, his saccharine tone mocking as he killed a zombie behind her. “Why don’t you go find the rest of your high class ladies to hang out with?”

“Oh, _no,_  Earl,” Lizzy returned with an equally sugary tone, stabbing a zombie sneaking up behind him and sending him a smug look. “You should take a rest. After all, we wouldn’t want your pristine white suit to get dirty, now.”

“Touche,” Grey snarked. Beheading a zombie that was about to kill a frightened noblewoman, he called, “That’s another one!” before proceeding to order the woman to get away from danger.

“We need to find the source of this,” Lizzy decided, glancing at the silver haired noble. “They need to be coming from _somewhere.”_

“No doubt your fiance’s already on the case,” Grey returned evenly, studying the sudden flash of pain in her eyes and apparently choosing to ignore it. Lizzy was grateful: she didn’t want to spill all of her insecurities about Ciel to the noble, which she would have inevitably done if he had asked. “Have you seen where he might have disappeared to?”

“Earlier in the ballroom, he disappeared with Sebastian,” Lizzy explained. “But I don’t know where he went next.”

“Great. Well then, maybe we can trace their footst—”

The ground began shaking. Lizzy stumbled, unintentionally latching onto Grey’s arm in an attempt to steady herself. Then, the shaking abruptly stopped. “What _was_ that?” Lizzy demanded, quickly drawing away from the earl.

“I don’t know, but probably nothing good.” Grey’s answer was hardly comforting. “I need to find Phipps,” he muttered to himself.

“We have to split up.”

Grey blinked, stupefied, before facing her. _"Pardon?”_

Lizzy rolled her eyes, clarifying, “It’s the logical course of action; I need to find Ciel and my parents, and you need to find Earl Charles Phipps. We’d be able to cover more territory and save more lives as well.”

“Tired of my presence already?”

 _Never,_ Lizzy almost said truthfully. Earl Grey, for all his prickly behavior, was an interesting companion to have around. It was _liberating_ to act as not only Lizzy but _Elizabeth_ with him. Instead, she shrugged (a rather unladylike gesture), then turned around and began striding down the hallway. “See you, Grey.”

She had barely walked a few steps away when his voice stopped her. “Don’t die!” he called. Lizzy paused, then turned around. “The only one who’s allowed to defeat you is me, Midford,” he clarified, arms over his chest. The earl was standing there, sword drawn and back straight, looking like the epitome of both arrogance and strength at the same time. “And when this ordeal is over, I expect a fencing rematch; you’re not winning this time.”

“We’ll see about that, now shall we?” Lizzy replied, a smile involuntarily stretching across her face as she nodded at him before hurrying off.

It was time to do her duty as a Midford.

* * *

 

As soon as she stepped on the deck, she was enveloped by a pair of warm arms. “Lizzy, thank goodness you’re alright!”

“Edward,” Lizzy acknowledged, allowing herself a grim smile and pulling out of his embrace to whip around and slash at four approaching enemies. “Where’s Ciel?”

Edward’s smile faltered, his eyes flashing with concern. “We thought you were with him.”

Panic set in Lizzy’s features as a myriad of terrible scenarios ran through her mind: Ciel being eaten alive by zombies, Ciel drowning in the turbulent waves... Shaking her head firmly, Lizzy dismissed her fears; Sebastian was with Ciel. There was no way that Ciel would get hurt under the Phantomhive butler’s careful watch. She trusted Sebastian would keep him safe. “I need to find him.”

“No,” Edward disagreed, surprising her. Her brother rarely contradicted her, and even though she knew he disliked Ciel, surely his sense of duty towards their cousin would win him over? They were trapped on a ship of zombies. “Lizzy, you need to get to the boats.”

“Boats?” Lizzy echoed.

“We’ve been hit by an iceberg,” Edward explained darkly, casually stabbing an undead behind him in the head and decapitating another to his right. “We should be heading over there soon as well, after we’ve secured the safety of as many people as possible.”

Lizzy’s breath hitched, mind already running through possible scenarios. As nobles, their places in the lifeboats were relatively secure. Considering Lizzy was a girl (and a _child,_  at that), she’d be given top priority into the lifeboats. But that wasn’t what mattered: many more people would _die._ Lower class peasants, male nobles, families, children… “Has a distress signal been sent out yet?”

“I’m not sure,” Edward admitted, spinning around and slashing at another mob of zombies. Suddenly, he paused and glanced at her. Reading her expression within a second, he warned, “Lizzy, don’t you _dare.”_

“Thank you, brother,” she called, waving at him and swiping at the zombies attempting to slow her down. Her resolve was unwavering, propelling her forward with the grace of a lioness as she leaped over the crowd of zombies. Darting back and forth and weaving through the crowd of zombies (while cutting them down along the way), Lizzy reached the upper deck of the ship. They were already loading people into the lifeboats, but she ignored the commotion and congregation of nervous nobles and rushed to the wireless suite.

Wincing at the corpses of the men sitting at the table, Lizzy stabbed the couple of zombies in the room before approaching the newfangled invention. Inwardly, she bit her lip. Hopefully her father’s lessons would help her now.

Setting her sabre down, Lizzy got to work.

* * *

 

“Midford.”

Lizzy literally jumped out of her skin. Whipping around, she let out a sigh of relief. “Grey,” she identified the silver haired noble. “I just sent out a distress signal. A ship should be over in the next hour.”

Grey nodded in acknowledgment, crossing his arms over his chest and commenting idly, “You need to get off this ship.”

“So do you,” she returned, her tone just as nonchalant.

“Your family was already ushered off. They were worried about you, you know.”

_Low blow, Grey. Low blow._

“Why aren’t you off, yet?” Lizzy asked curiously, emerald eyes swerving to stare at his silver eyes directly. Grey looked vaguely uncomfortable, shifting to the right and fastidiously avoiding her gaze. Lizzy’s eyes narrowed. “Grey, you _didn’t_.”

“Thirty-eight civilians saved,” Grey proclaimed proudly.

“For God’s...you...I just…” Lizzy groaned, slapping her palm against her forehead, unable to believe the recklessness (or perhaps _stubbornness_ was more accurate) of the man she’d dueled since the beginning of her fencing career. “Alright, that’s it. We’re getting off this ship. Do you know where Ciel is?”

“Earl Phantomhive? Haven’t seen him.”

Grey must have realized that was the wrong thing to say, somehow reading her mind with a cursory glance. Grabbing her arm, he glared at her. “Don’t even think about it, Midford.”

“He’s my fiance,” Lizzy replied simply, eyes glinting with determination as she shook off his grip and headed towards the ballroom in hopes to find traces of the azure eyed noble. She heard Grey grumble behind her, but to her surprise, he jogged forward to match her brisk pace. She tilted her head ever so slightly in question, continuing to stride forward with _purpose._

“If you’re going, then I certainly can’t miss out on the fun.” Grey shrugged off her questioning gaze. “Phantomhives tend to attract trouble, from what I’ve heard.”

“So they do,” Lizzy agreed wryly, hand whipping out and stabbing a zombie in the head that had attempted to approach the two. She studied the silver-haired earl, lips pursing. “Grey, are you sure about this? It’d put my mind at ease if you left the ship.”

 _“Please,_ Midford,” Grey snorted. “Phipps is still on deck somewhere, too. The Queen would be ashamed of us if we left so quickly without attempting to help our countrymen.”

Lizzy observed him before nodding. She wouldn’t stop him. “Do as you will.”

* * *

 

“What in the actual _hell.”_

Normally, Lizzy would’ve reprimanded the silver-haired earl’s language. Nevertheless, staring with her mouth agape and jaw unhinged, Lizzy couldn’t bring herself to criticize him for swearing. There, in the ballroom infested with zombies, stood her fiance. Surrounding him was an ongoing battle between Sebastian, an eccentric scarlet-clad figure, an exasperated ginger, and…

“... _Undertaker_?” She identified the silver-haired man, squinting. “And Viscount Druitt, too.”

“Oh, my! It looks like we have a few unwanted guests,” the red-haired figure gushed, causing all eyes to turn to them.

“Two humans?” murmured the ginger questioningly.

“Lady Elizabeth,” Sebastian said in mild surprise, barely dodging an attack from the ginger.

 _“Lizzy?”_ Came Ciel’s incredulous response.

“Help me get to Ciel,” Lizzy snapped at Grey, having already stashed her bloody sabres within her petticoats once she spotted Ciel’s petite figure.

“Oi, oi, are you seriously prioritizing your reputation as a lady over your safety?” Grey complained, but obliged nonetheless. Clearing the way with a single powerful swipe, he performed a flamboyant bow accompanied with a flourish of his hand. “After you, my lady.”

“Such a gentleman you are,” Lizzy returned, nodding her head in thanks before taking the opportunity to dash across the ballroom, masterfully evading the zombies enclosing upon her and rushing to Ciel’s side. Her emerald eyes shone with concern as she pulled her fiance to his feet with a little more force than intended. “Ciel, are you alright? Why aren’t you on the boats, yet? Who are these people?”

“Why aren’t _you_ on the boats?” Ciel responded disbelievingly, eyes still firmly pinned on Sebastian’s agile form. “And this is none of your concern, Elizabeth.”

She stared at her fiance incredulously. _None of her concern? None of her concern, her ass!_ Lizzy was Ciel’s fiance, for heaven’s sake! It _would_ be a little concerning to have a headless fiance. She had been trained to be the wife of the Queen’s Watchdog since she could _walk,_ and although she hid her physical prowess from her cousin, she had _every right_ to know what was going on!

“Ciel Phantomhive,” Lizzy said dangerously, gritting her teeth and trying not to add an explicative to the title. Something about her tone of voice resembled her mother’s. “You will tell me what is going on or I’ll ask the Undertaker myself.”

At the mention of the silver-haired man, Ciel stiffened. “Don’t.”

Lizzy wasn’t sure if it was a command or a plea, but she was not to be deterred. “What’s going on, Ciel?” she demanded.

“An idiot tried to play God,” Ciel relented, gesturing to the frightened looking man cowering behind him. Then his eyes narrowed at the battle waging before them. “And Sebastian’s preoccupied. We’re trying to bring the Undertaker in.”

Considering that the blows exchanged created enough force to cause wind to blow past her, Lizzy was inclined to agree. “I’m getting you out of here,” she decided.

 _“Lizzy,”_ came Ciel’s voice, lined with annoyance. She knew that tone all too well: usually, she’d back off and respect her fiance’s privacy. But when it came to life and death? _Hell no,_ she wouldn’t risk her fiance’s life on his butler’s abnormal habit of coming through.

“We’ve hit an iceberg and the ship’s set to sink any minute, now. I’d really, _really_ appreciate it if I’m not left a widow at age fourteen.” Inwardly, she scolded herself. God _damn_ it, Lizzy: stop talking to Ciel like that! Somehow, sarcasm rolled off her tongue naturally despite her utmost efforts to maintain civil.

Ciel gave her a baffled look. “We’re not married.”

Lizzy threw her hands up in the air. “It’s the _concept,_ Ciel. The idea! Regardless of our marital status, I care about you and I’m not betting on Sebastian to keep you safe. Let’s _move.”_

Unfortunately, they didn’t have a choice. Lizzy flinched as she felt something cold and oddly dry grabbed her shoulder. Her head inched around, almost as if in slow motion, as she met the eyes of an undead standing directly behind her. Swallowing, Lizzy barely registered Ciel’s scream and his useless attempt at shooting it — it seemed as if he had run out of bullets.

The zombie was closing in, about to bite her neck as if it was some unrefined vampire or something. Lizzy pulled away from it, attempting to escape, but its grip was unnaturally strong.

Lizzy sighed, attempting to give Ciel one last wobbly smile before—

_Shing._

“God _damn_ it Midford, is your reputation worth your _life?”_

“...Grey?”

Looming over her with a bloody sabre in hand, the figure clad in blood-splattered white looked almost like an angel. Then, of course, he opened up his mouth. “You need to fucking _fight,_ because I sure as hell won’t be defending your fiance,” he snapped. “Screw your fucking insecurities: if Phantomhive doesn’t like you as you are, he doesn’t deserve you. I can’t get rid of all this trash on my own.”

Ciel bristled, and for the first time, Lizzy realized that his ankle was broken. “Ex _cuse_ me, earl, you don’t have the authority nor _right_ to insult my fiance.”

His defense both warmed her heart and broke it.

“And _your fiance_ can speak for herself, thank you very much,” Lizzy snapped. She inwardly winced at the acerbity of her voice. She didn’t _mean_ to: dear Lord, Mother had always warned her she’d snap under high duress during her first mission. She just didn’t expect herself to snap at _Ciel._

Standing up with the most dignified expression she could muster, Lizzy slapped Earl Grey in the face. The earl rocked on his heels, stunned, then glared at her. “What the hell was _that_ for?”

“Swearing in front of a lady,” Lizzy replied primly, slipping off her gloves. “But...thank you. For saving me.”

“You could’ve saved yourself,” Grey sniffed.

“Lizzy, what the _hell_ is going on?” Ciel asked furiously.

A tiny, vindictive part of her relished in being in the spotlight. The majority of her, however, was sobbing. Strangely, even though the paralyzing fear sweeping through her was stronger than her fears earlier, Lizzy did not feel _afraid._ She was doing what she needed to do: _protect._

“I am _Elizabeth Midford,_ daughter of Alexis Midford, head knight of the Order of the British Empire,” _Elizabeth_ intoned, feeling Lizzy slip away. Slowly, _methodically,_ she slipped her bloody sabres out of her petticoats. Even though she’d done so a hundred times before in practice, there was something _electrifying_ about revealing them, now. “Earl Charles Grey, I give you my thanks. Now, I ask you to help me protect the country.”

“My pleasure, Wife of the Queen’s Watchdog,” Grey returned pleasantly, the title sending a thrill down her spine. Wife of the Queen’s Watchdog, indeed. _That_ was the role she had been training for her entire life.

“Ciel…” she glanced at him, and for a moment, she was Lizzy again. Her emerald green eyes flashed with an indiscernible emotion. “Forgive me?”

Ciel managed to pry his eyes away from her blood-soaked sabres to give her a wide-eyed look. “Forgive…?”

Lizzy smiled. “This time...I’ll protect you.”

Then, _Elizabeth_ lunged into battle, stabbing and slashing with detached amusement.

_One. Two. Three._

She decapitated three more zombies with a single swipe, then dashed forward and used one of them to propel herself in the air. Landing on a zombie’s head, she stabbed it and performed a pirouette, decapitating four more undeads that were closing upon her.

She ran her sabre straight through three zombies, her pace not faltering in the slightest.

_Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen._

As she continued methodically massacring the crowd, she forced herself to not think about Ciel’s horrified expression she caught out of the corner of her eye. Blood splattered on her face and Elizabeth registered that Grey was to her right, similarly wading through and demolishing the enemy.

_Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five._

Elizabeth spun around, performed a cheney turn, and successfully sliced six more zombies in half. Then she continued.

_Thirty-four. Thirty-five. Thirty-six._

The staggering number of zombies was amazing, in a morbid sense. Elizabeth’s lips curled downwards as she narrowly avoided being skewered herself by Grey’s sword.

“Tired yet, Midford?” he asked cheerily, casually stabbing an undead behind him..

Midford. That’s right: she was Elizabeth _Midford,_ not Elizabeth Phantomhive. She should at least make an effort at keeping her dress clean. Elizabeth weaved through the crowd, slicing and stabbing rapidly and moving past the fallen bodies before their blood could dirty her clothes.

_Fifty. Fifty-one. Fifty-two._

“That’s awfully rude of you, ignoring my question and all,” Grey chided, suddenly appearing to her right. “I believe we’ve cleared out—”

Elizabeth had no time to react before she was slammed into the wall by the sheer force of...Undertaker’s...weapon? The wooden stake he had been using had morphed into some sort of scythe.

“Phantomhives sure do get into a lot of trouble, don’t they?” Grey pondered, wincing and extracting himself from the wall. “But, for all that is holy, who the _hell_ are those people?”

“I never took you to be religious,” Elizabeth murmured, eyes narrowed. “Grey, I think that—”

Suddenly, the boat _tilted_ and she nearly fell over, her instincts saving her just before she tipped over.

“God _damn_ it,” cursed Grey, stumbling and managing to stand firmly on his feet. “Phipps is gonna _kill_ me.”

“Assuming we aren’t killed here,” Elizabeth asserted cheerfully, adjusting to the back-and-forth rocking of the ship. “I don’t think we’ll be able to shut that thing off at this rate: he’s too strong.”

“No _kidding,”_ Grey replied, gritting his teeth. “I knew there was something off with that butler—”

“Phantomhive servant standards?” Elizabeth shrugged apathetically. “What matters is that for now, he’s on our side. If we can’t do anything here, we might as well go check to see if there’s any lifeboats remaining. Then, we should focus on search and rescue. I’m sure my distress signal has reached somebody already: all we have to do is wait for half an hour with as many civilians as possible.”

“Right.” Reluctantly, Grey pulled his gaze away from the scene. It frustrated him, no doubt, to know that they couldn’t keep up with the figures battling above. Elizabeth felt the same.

She had to get _stronger:_ strong enough to withstand these kinds of... _beasts._

“I’ll grab Ciel,” Elizabeth said, staggering to her feet.

“Oh, your butler got stabbed. Again.” Grey’s observation was lined with curiosity rather than concern.

 _“Again?”_ Elizabeth scowled at him, but then the boat tilted to the side completely.

 _“Fuck,_ he’s about to—”

There was a flash of green light and the ship was neatly cleaved in half.

 _“Grey!”_ Elizabeth shrieked, grabbing him as they _literally_ fell out of the ballroom. Legs and arms flailing in an attempt to land somewhere but to no avail, Lizzy’s eyes widened as realization dawned on her features. “Ciel, no... _Ciel!”_

“Focus, damn it!” Grey barked. “There’s an overturned lifeboat over there: hold your breath and help me upright it— _take off your clothes!”_

Quickly calculating that her life was worth more than her chastity, _Elizabeth_ cut off the outer layers of her dress with a quick slash.

.

.

.

They hit the water.

All that Lizzy could think for a long moment was: _cold._ It was _freezing,_ the cold seeping into her very bones, chilling her to the core. Her heavy clothes were _still_ dragging her down, despite the lessened layers, and it took all of her strength to not succumb to the immense force of the water. Flailing, her lungs screaming in protest, Lizzy used her arms to propel her upwards towards the surface.

As soon as she broke the surface, she was slapped in the face by icy cold air. If it hadn’t been for her mother’s training, Lizzy would’ve broken down at that very moment. For the better or worse, though, she _did_ go through her mother’s training, which was why the first thing she did was observe her surroundings.

_There._

Lizzy swum towards (or, more accurately, uselessly leaned in the direction of) the white-clad figure and pulled his hand. “G-Grey, w-we need to f-flip over t-the boat,” she reminded, her teeth chattering despite only hitting the water moments before.

“R-right,” Grey agreed, his normally upright silver hair plastered messily on his face. “G-get t-the other s-side.”

Their combined strength, sapped by the water, wasn’t enough and Lizzy was beginning to feel desperate. Then, her eye caught on several figures swimming towards them: working class men, if their wet clothes were any indication.

“N-need a h-hand?” One of the men offered a flimsy, numb smile.

“T-thank you,” Lizzy managed. Together, they overturned the boat. Immediately, all of the men were clamoring to get aboard, causing the boat to rock precariously. “O-one at a time!” she called. “W-we can help stabilize the b-boat.”

Although some of the men ignored her, others heeded her words and waited their turn so that about two men at a time climbed aboard. One of them turned around to help Lizzy up. The wood was slippery, but she stood firm. Then, she snatched Grey out of the water before he could make some kind of stubborn protest on the behalf of his pride.

“B-by the lord almighty, y-you’re a gal!”

“I-Indeed I am,” Lizzy returned, her stutter beginning to die down as she shivered in the frosty air. The cold nipped at her neck, a constant reminder that she could potentially _die_ from hypothermia or the like. (Ciel could, too.)

“S-she’s perfectly c-c-capable of kicking all of your asses, though,” Grey added helpfully, drawing her out of her thoughts.

“S-scoot over and s-share me your body heat,” Lizzy instructed the earl haltingly, throwing all formalities to the wind. She was _cold,_ damn it. “T-the rescue ship s-should arrive soon…”

“Civilians…”

“What?” To her relief, her voice had grown stronger and steadier.

“There are still...civilians…” Grey struggled to his feet, gaze sweeping across the boat. Somehow, his voice sounded more dignified than the lackadaisical tone usually associated with the earl. Now, he was _Charles Grey,_ head of the Grey house and esteemed butler of the Queen “We still have plenty room. The boat has sunken already: let’s rescue any survivors we can.”

“And if they overcrowd us?” piped in a bearded man towards the back of the boat.

“Are you saying you’d leave those men, women, and children to die?” Lizzy asked sweetly. “Will you allow their deaths to be on _your_ conscience?”

“And we’ll die if they don’t!” protested another man. His companions averted their gazes uncomfortably, clearly unwilling to participate in the argument.

“Stop being melodramatic,” Lizzy snorted. “We have plenty of room. Get the oars ready.”

“Helluva n—”

_Shing._

“I am _perfectly_ capable of decapitating you,” noted Elizabeth, her voice oddly detached and smile unnerving. “One or two lives for five or six? I’ll take it.”

She could literally _feel_ Grey’s smirk.

“F-fine. But I’m warning you! I’m warning _all_ of you: their bleedin’ hearts are gonna cost us our lives.”

“Ready the oars,” Grey commanded, eyeing the man with irritation. “Let’s move it.”

“Um...excuse me?” piped in a meek boy to her left. “Ma’am? Sir?”

Well, _that_ was a first. Her _mother_ was always “ma’am.” She was always “Miss” or “Young Miss.”

 _“What?”_ Grey snapped impatiently. In response, the boy pointed a shaking finger at the water ahead of them. Lizzy’s eyes grew wider as she realized that _no,_ the floating corpses she’d spotted weren’t just floating corpses. They were _reanimated_ corpses.

“Grey, take the back!” she snapped, leaping forward and stabbing one of the corpses in the head before it could latch onto the boat.

“There’s some alive ones to the left!” Grey called, stabbing a zombie. “Midford, cover me!”

Cursing, Lizzy had barely any time to react before Grey dove into the water and began swimming towards a pair of wailing children struggling to keep afloat. “Hit them with the oars,” Lizzy instructed, tossing one of her sabres to one of the bulkier men for good measure before diving after him.

“Y-you’re a _terrible_ influence on me,” she stuttered, grabbing one of the children off of Grey’s arm before stabbing a corpse to her right. Her movements were sluggish, as expected of the temperature and water resistance. “W-we need to g-get on the lifeboat.”

“B-brilliant d-deduction,” Grey agreed. Together, they managed to cross the seemingly _endless_ distance of six meters to return back to the lifeboat _with_ children hanging onto their shoulders. Immediately, warm hands hoisted her upwards and Lizzy had to stare for several seconds before registering the face before her.

“S-Sebastian?”

“Lady Elizabeth,” he acknowledged, observing her with an unreadable expression. “I’m glad to see you are still alive.”

“Ah shoot, _Grey!”_ Lizzy whipped around, grabbing the small child he offered first before hoisting the earl aboard.

“I _knew_ there was a reason why I disliked heroism,” Grey declared as soon as his teeth stopped chattering. “Never again, Midford. Never again.”

“Hush and check on the children,” Lizzy admonished, slipping the child off her shoulders. “Are you alright?”

“C-cold,” the little girl chattered, shivering. “W-where’s Mommy?”

“She’s probably d—”

“—not here right now!” Lizzy finished quickly before Grey could finish his callous remark, shooting a glare at the earl before ordering one of the men to take care of the child. Straightening and addressing the Phantomhive servant, Lizzy questioned, “Sebastian, what happened to the rest of the corpses?”

“They have been taken care of,” Sebastian replied, frowning at the pair. “I advise you, Lady Elizabeth, to have a conversation with Ciel.”

Lizzy’s smile faltered. “Right. Where is he?”

She nearly jumped from the voice that resounded directly behind Sebastian. “Lizzy.”

“Ciel,” Lizzy returned just as evenly, her composure surprising herself. Her heartbeat sounded so loudly in her chest that she half expected her fiance to hear it. Not bothering to stash her sabre away in her damp petticoats, Lizzy sat down and faced him directly. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Lizzy…” Evidently, her concerns weren’t enough to deter him. “What was that earlier?”

“I believe the Undertaker sliced the ship in half,” Lizzy said thoughtfully, deliberately tapping her chin as if in deep thought. “And despite his monstrous strength, Sebastian still managed to somewhat keep up with him.”

“I’m talking about _you.”_ His deflection was pitifully obvious she nearly laughed aloud.

“Oh, _this?”_ Lizzy waved her bloody, still dripping sabre in his face. Something inside her had grown numb.

If she was just “Lizzy,” she might’ve broken into tears, wailing about how Ciel would hate her. But she was also “Elizabeth,” and that side of her...didn’t really feel any remorse for massacring the corpses. Elizabeth was a knight, born to protect. Killing those corpses protected her precious people. Lizzy knew she _should_ break into tears, just to show that she wasn’t a complete failure of a dainty lady and _could_ be overwhelmed by the situation, but the biting cold and weight of her sabre in hand desensitized her from feeling...anything.

“I’m the daughter of the most decorated swordswoman and knight in England,” Lizzy deadpanned. “I’m also destined to be the wife of the Queen’s Watchdog. You went through lessons yourself, didn’t you, Ciel? Mine were just...a bit out of the norm for most girls.”

“Why did you _hide_ it?” Ciel demanded.

“Because you hate girls like me,” Lizzy answered, blinking at him in surprise. The answer was _obvious,_ wasn’t it? She was a terrible excuse of a girl, much less a woman. To her right, she heard one of the men cough awkwardly. To her left, she felt Grey’s glower. “Don’t worry: I can talk with Mother and have the engagement cancelled. I can still protect you as your cousin.”

 _“Cancelled?”_ Ciel echoed, sounding completely dumbstruck.

“Yes…?” Lizzy drew out questioningly.

“She could always marry me,” Grey inputted, startling both of the nobles. Lizzy observed his expression before rolling her eyes at his belligerence. He was trying to rile up Ciel, of _course._

“Perhaps in a couple of years, I’ll consider your offer,” she allowed, a grin tugging at her lips as _Grey_ was the one to look taken aback. She winked at him, and finally realization dawned on his features. “You _do_ make an alright fencing partner.”

“Alright?” Grey repeated, scowling.

“Decent,” she clarified.

 _“Decent?”_ he squawked, indignant.

“Ah- _hem._ ”

Lizzy’s gaze swerved to her right. “Yes, Ciel?” she asked carefully, eyeing her cousin with concern.

“I never agreed to any engagement cancellation,” Ciel said, staring at her with some indescribable emotion. “Lizzy, I don’t...I don’t hate girls like you. You’re _strong.”_

Lizzy blatantly stared.

 _“And_ kind, _and_ stubborn, _and_ caring to the point of stupidity,” Grey added, giving her a lopsided smirk. She wasn’t sure to feel honored or offended. “What, Phantomhive, did you finally realize she’s the Queen on your chessboard?”

“Lizzy’s not a chess piece,” Ciel disagreed. “And what chessboard are we talking about?”

Grey snorted. _“Please,_ Phantomhive. You don’t think me daft, do you? _Everything’s_ chess to you. Her Majesty’s the exact same way. We’re all chess pieces, here.”

“Ah...um…” Lizzy stared at the two passive-aggressively bantering with one another. “Grey? Ciel?”

“Careful with this one, Midford,” Grey warned. “Never trust a Phantomhive.”

“Grey, _I’m_ a Phantomhive.”

“And a Midford,” Grey waved her comment away easily. “You’re also a Midford, which is probably the reason you aren’t a complete bore like your cousin is.”

“Be careful with your words, earl,” came Ciel’s strained voice. His arms were crossed over his chest as if he was physically restraining himself from lunging at the silver haired noble. Or siccing Sebastian on him.

Grey sighed impatiently, scanning the horizon. For what, Lizzy couldn’t tell: it was pitch black around them, except…

“A ship!” she cheered, immediately drawing all attention to her. Pointing excitedly, she gestured in the direction of the ship. “Come on, now, let’s row!”

Sebastian grabbed the oars before any of the men could react to her galvanizing cry. “Allow me.”

And after several awe-inspiring strokes, they were close enough to the ship to hear the orders shouted at the crew members. Everyone in the boat was silent, only erupting in cheers once they were raised onto the deck.

Lizzy wobbled precariously on her feet as she adjusted to the gentle rocking of the boat, eyes sweeping disbelievingly across the crowd of hopeful faces surrounding them. Then, out of the crowd came a streak of gold--

_“Lizzy!”_

She exhaled, the tension of her shoulders loosening as her brother’s arms wrapped around her. Edward encompassed so many things: family, warmth, _home..._

_...safety._

They were safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Some of my sass and salt seeped into Lizzy. My apologies.  
> Also, hooray: badass humans. Grey and Lizzy represent us well.


End file.
